The Twelfth Chapter
by Eldar Dave
Summary: On the Battle torn Worldof Malakir, Warriors of the Ultramarines desperately defend their final bastion against the green tide, but in orbit above and catacombs below, other powers are at play and have their own objectives.


_**The Twelfth Chapter **_

Below them, across the void of space, a world burned.

Deck hands and staff officers alike stopped and saluted fist to chest as the bridge doors clanged open.

The ornately power armoured giant acknowledged them all with a glance as he marched across the vessels shadowy command deck towards the grand oculus and a second hulking giant figure there, standing calmly observing the planets sacking.

"Lord Shemjaza" the arrival bowed. "The fleet is positioned and stealth systems are fully engaged".

For a moment he remained silent before a brief smile crossed his tanned, battle scarred face. "This operation will leave us vulnerable to Imperium scrutiny, are you sure the relic is here sorcerer?"

"The scarab cabal is continuing to disrupt astropathic communications lord" the psyker assured him. "And yes, the tome is here. Even from here I can sense its power. We must work quickly sir, a critical juncture fast approaches".

Shemjaza nodded decisively. "Begin the assault".

Explosions tore through the bastions defences sending tank sized slabs of masonry into the air.

"Brother Captain, eastern perimeter breached!" The warning crackled as Captain Matthias cast aside his cracked helm. "Ancient Baldur and squad Apollos can hold the line but not for long. The Emperor protects!"

Instantly assessing the situation, the Ultramarine hauled his battered body off the ground and began ordering reinforcements.

"Warriors of Ultramar" he cried. "The Emperor protects!"

All about him, through the plasticrete dust was evidence of several months of unremitting conflict, piles of bodies waist high in places; loyal subjects all, of him on earth and as Matthias forced through the twisted wreckage he grimly reaffirmed his oath to avenge them all.

Gunfire blazed as the Ultramarine sprinting across the battlements, tearing fist sized chunks out of the walls around him. Beneath him, the once fertile plains had been reduced to a blasted quagmire by the relentless greenskin hoard that stretched to the horizon.

Massive arrays of artillery, the concentrated fire of the imperial guard and Astarte's tore vast swathes through their ranks, but it hardly slowed the green tide.

A battered marine shouted over the din as Matthias reached the firing line. "You look like hell my lord". The captain grinned, noticing his sergeant had lost an arm and the right side of his face, Vester merely shrugged at his loss as a fresh missile salvo erupted among the hoard.

"How stand the guard units along the eastern perimeter?"

Vester shook his head sadly, "down to thirty seven percent lord. But they fight like bastards, I'll give them that".

"They fight for their home old friend". Matthias replied, offering a prayer to the emperor for their souls.

"Aye my lord" the sergeant agreed solemnly. "But if reinforcements don't come soon it'll be for nothing". Another barrage of missile ripped into the Ork ranks. "There's another problem sir. Groundside astrocogitators have registered what appears to be a second fleet in closing orbit which is disrupting offworld comms".

"Then my old friend" Matthias replied, steeling himself. "It simply remains to take as many of the green filth with us before we travel to the Emperors side".

Vester, merely grunted in agreement, staring out across the blasted plain as the great gargants lumbered noisily towards them.

"Aye, my Lord. The Emperor protects"

Above them, a world burned.

Even in the deepest catacombs the rumblings of war could be felt through the walls.

Inquisitor Falco continued his work, ignoring the disturbed grime as it settled about him. For nearly forty years he and his team had worked in secret, hunting for ancient and forgotten relics of the Imperium and to make use of them in its defence. They had been forty years leading to this great moment and the glory of finding a fabled S.T.C. would be his and his alone.

"My lord. The seventh and eighth ciphers are locked and awaiting activation." intoned one of many servitors in his service. "Good good. Activate". The inquisitor nodded distractedly, there was no time for celebration yet, not with twelve locks remaining.

Matthias roared triumphantly as the Ork Nob exploded at point blank range, showering him in fresh gore. Greenskins were scaling the battlements in search of their prey, Ultramarines and guardsmen slaughtered them by the hundreds, but still they kept coming, forcing the defenders to secondary positions.

Though every man would fight to the end the Ultramarine knew it was only a matter of time now. Now all that mattered was blood and honour.

"My lord, I believe we may have our work cut out for us" laughed Vester as he beheaded another greenskin.

"What gives you that impression old friend" Matthias as he booted a greenskin in the groin, sending it screaming over the battlements. Even in the darkest of moments the captain found Vesters humour lifting his spirits.

Matthias never heard the sergeants' reply

The clouds above the battlefield were instantly evaporated as pulses of energy lanced from orbit immediately followed by a series of thundering concussions that impacted amongst the gargants. The effects were instant and devastating as the two great Ork war machines and countless greenskins were evaporated in the mile high explosion. The concussion blew near all combatant from their feet. Matthias, disoriented, with his ears still ringing, rolled at the last second, avoiding a clever meant for his face. Kicking the orks feet out from under him the captain instantly set upon his enemy, thumbing its eyes through before retrieving and dusting off his bolter.

The Orks fighting spirit had vanished along with their god machines, in complete disarray they were forced to throw themselves from the battlements in the face of a renewed defence.

The Captain found Vester as he, with several guardsmen were dispatching survivors, saluted him with triumph gleaming in his remaining eye. "Whoever fired that shot was either a bloody minded egotist or a bloody tactical genius. My guess is Sicarius" Vesters grin disappeared as Matthias frowned, staring over the ruined fortifications to the horizon and the sergeant joined him to witness the first drop pods pierce the atmosphere on trails of fire followed shortly by wings of huge drop craft, dozens of which veered to the bastion dropping massive payloads of promethium, Matthias's frown deepened. "It's not Sicarius" he concluded pointing at the silver, twin turbine craft as they approached. "Those are Stormbirds. They haven't seen service for nearly ten millennia".

The one armed sergeant left the obvious question unasked.

Far below the surface, the sounds of battle receded. Falco cared little of the victor for soon a life of dedicated service would be rewarded, even now the Inquisitor fancied he heard the sounds of machinery, pumping of piston and hissing of steam through remaining seals and he shivered with excitement at the thought all of the glorious possibilities.

"Soon" he whispered to himself. "So very soon".


End file.
